


it's only been a moment (it's only been a liftetime)

by darkerstarss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Major character death - Freeform, NO HAPPY ENDING!!!, Spideychelle, some fluff I guess, this is garbage but whatever, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkerstarss/pseuds/darkerstarss
Summary: at 9:37 pm on sunday, january 12, michelle jones received a phone call.or in which five minutes became one all too quickly
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Kudos: 19





	it's only been a moment (it's only been a liftetime)

**Author's Note:**

> okay, last warning: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY. someone dies (and you already know who.) trigger warnings include mentions of blood, death, gunshot wounds, etc.
> 
> i was inspired to write this by a prompt i saw on pinterest a while back, but i'm not very proud of this piece. i just wrote most of it at 2am (which is currently) so... yeah. don't get your hopes up. and it is very much not edited, so.
> 
> title from the song silhouette by aquilo

At 9:37 pm on Sunday, January 12, Michelle Jones’ received a phone call, and though she’d been wrist-deep in a bowl of cookie dough, she answered. It was from her  fiancé , Peter Parker — known to most as Spider-Man.

Wiping smears of dough and chocolate chips on a rag, she reached for her phone, pressing it between her ear and her shoulder as she continued kneading the dough together. “Hey, Babe.”

Two miles away, Peter Parker crouched in a back alley, his mask discarded on the ground as he held his phone to his ear with one hand, the other clutching the place where the bullet had gone into his stomach.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wasn’t sure if he could.

“Peter, are you okay?” Michelle asked, and the rising panic in her voice was apparent. She’d known he was the masked hero for two years now, and she’d gotten used to it, but she’d never stopped worrying.

Finally, after a moment or two, he got the words out of his mouth. “I’m fine.” The words came out choked, straining from the pain of his wound, and Peter only hoped it couldn’t be heard through the phone. “What are you doing?”

Through the phone, he almost heard his  fiancé calm. “Makin’ cookies. Don’t worry, though, I saved some food for you when you get home.”

“Chocolate chip or peanut butter?”

Michelle let out a light snort. “Do you even have to ask?”

_Peter Parker was no genius in the kitchen, and though his girlfriend had a certain knack for baked goods, she hadn’t had time to teach him much between her college courses and her internship at Stark industries. Besides, he wanted it to be a surprise._

_That is, if he could figure out how to follow Michelle’s recipe. It took him twenty minutes alone to decipher her handwriting and gather all the ingredients for her favorite peanut butter cookies, but he still hadn’t figured out the instructions. They weren’t terribly detailed._

_Preheat oven for 350°F. Combine ingredients. Place cookies on pan, two inches apart. Bake for twelve minutes._

_Unfortunately, that left far too much up in the air for someone with as little experience as Peter, and two hours later, when his girlfriend returned home, he was still trying to clean the peanut butter, eggs, and sugar that caked the kitchen cabinets and floor._

_He was not allowed in the kitchen unsupervised from that point forward._

“I guess not,” Peter responded, squeezing his abdomen harder.

The blood had soaked through his suit, and was beginning to pool on the ground below him. He could feel it seeping through to his hands, as well, sticky and warm, and he was grateful for the cover of night.

If he’d been hit anywhere else, he might’ve called for help. If not the hospital, he would’ve called Tony Stark, who most certainly had a team of medical professionals and a stack of NDAs at the ready.

But Peter knew that it took between five and ten minutes to bleed out from a bullet to the stomach — if the bullet had git an artery, he would’ve been lucky to have more than ten seconds. Either way, by the time help arrived, it would be too late.

Five minutes.

He had two left.

“So, I was thinking,” Michelle hummed, and he heard the rustle of tinfoil through the phone. “what about blue as our color scheme for the wedding? You know, like the shade on your suit.” She paused for a moment, waiting for Peter to interject.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak through the tears in his eyes.

_How do you propose to a girl that hates ‘sappy?’_

_Unfortunately, Peter didn’t know the answer. If he did, he wouldn’t have been freaking out quite so much._

_But either way, he’d bought the ring and dragged his girlfriend out of the apartment as soon as she got off work, insisting they eat at her favorite restaurant — the Italian place just down the street._

_But courage was hard to come by in a dimly lit, hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and the busy pattern of the red-and-white checkered tablecloths did nothing for his rising anxiety._

_And yet, somehow, he’d managed to pull the ring out of his pocket and offer it to Michelle Jones over a shared slice of chocolate cake, and before he’d even had a chance to open his mouth, she had already dropped her fork, cupping her face in surprise._

_“Oh God...”_

_Peter smiled. “MJ, I just want you to know that... you mean everything to me. You make me a better person — a better hero — and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. So I was wondering... would you do me the honor of marrying me?”_

_ Michelle smiled, reaching out and taking his hand in her own. “Well how could a girl say no to that?” _

“Your tux could be the same shade, too, and you could pin a little red flower, like a rose or something, to your jacket. What do you think?”

Shuddering, Peter tried to steady his breathing. “Sounds great.” Suddenly, he inhaled sharply, gasping a little and coughing, causing more blood to hemorrhage out of his wound.

“Peter, where are you?” Michelle demanded, voice rising. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m talking to you.”

Two minutes just became one, faster than he would have liked. Then again, is anyone ever really ready to say goodbye?

_ “I’m sorry,  _ _ Mr _ _ Parker.” _

_ The young man looked down at the body of May Parker, covered in cuts and bruises and burns, and so much blood that he could hardly even recognize her. “Did she suffer?” _

_ The EMT shook his head. “She died on impact,” he told Peter quietly, red and blue lights flashing over their faces. “She didn’t feel anything, if it helps.” _

_ “It doesn’t.” _

_ Suddenly, without warning, Peter walked away, unable to look on for another moment. He ducked under the police tape, and soon as he was on the open sidewalk, he ran. He ran as far as he could, doing his best to avoid the obstacles of New York City, before eventually coming to a stop in front of Stark Tower. _

_ And there, Michelle Jones found him, with no tears left, three hours later. _

“Hey, MJ?” Peter croaked, pressing his hand onto his stomach with even more force, gritting his teeth to get through the pain. “I love you.”

He could almost hear her smile through the phone. “Love you too.” She sounded happy; he was glad for that. “I guess you  gotta get off, huh? Save the city.”

Peter chuckled, doing his best to ignore the increasing lightness of his head. “Never a dull moment.” He tried not to think about the fact that, suddenly, the hole in his gut had stopped hurting.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Michelle hummed. “Come home soon, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Trying desperately not to let his tears get the best of him, the young man let out a quiet groan, masking it with his words. “Goodbye, MJ.”

“Bye,” she responded simply.

Peter opened his mouth, croaking out a small, “I love you,” only to be cut off by a small beep,  signaling his  fiancé had ended the call, and hadn’t heard his last words in the conversation.

His last words,  _ ever _ .

One minute became none, and he almost didn’t notice.

At 9:41 pm on Sunday, January 12, Peter Parker never made it home.

And a day later, at 3:15 in the afternoon, Michelle Jones received another phone call, from the New York City Police Department.

By 3:39, the whole world knew: Peter Parker was never going to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> comment your thoughts, i love hearing from you guys!
> 
> ps, sorry for the angst.


End file.
